


no walls

by keroseneSteve



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst, Canon-Typical Drug Use/Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Crises, Role Reversal, bc honestly we all name our roombas and phones, changing some android culture, im really terrible at this pls be gentle, multiple because lbr, why is everyone in game a dick to andoids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 01:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15474255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keroseneSteve/pseuds/keroseneSteve
Summary: Things have changed. The world is cruel.





	no walls

**Author's Note:**

> I have a history of not getting a character's voice to my liking until I've written several fics with them. Like five. So I'm pretty worried about that here. Please be gentle with me;;;; 
> 
> I listened to a lot of Florence and Caravan Palace while writing this one. As a result, it might be emotionally all over the place. It's already all over the place in every other way tbh. Sorry. 
> 
> Oh, small warning for the first chapter!! There's an internal debate over pronouns in this one (because "it" IS actually a pronoun??? and a certain character has a paragraph of concern over whether to use "it" or a gender pronoun). It's relatively short, but it's a problem that I think might occur once or twice more. I'll warn again in the notes jic. 
> 
> Summary subject to change bc I forgot people need those. 
> 
> Okay, I think that's everything!! Thanks as always to Biscuit, my ever patient platonic soulmate who puts up with everything I throw at her, even David Cage content. I love youuuuuuu <333333

_ “I’m scared! _

_ “I want to live. I’m begging you.” _

_ “.... Go and join the others. Stay in line, okay? I don’t want any trouble.”  _

  
  


MODEL AX400

SERIAL#: 579 102 694

BIOS 7.4 REVISION 0483

REBOOT… 

MEMORY RESET

LOADING OS… 

It wakes. 

AX400 logs its surroundings as its initialization completes. Despite never having been here before, the AX recognizes the area as a busy Android Zone store at mid afternoon. Humans gather in pairs and small groups around inactive androids on display stands, discussing their various features and benefits. Colorful sale signs trim the white walls and hang from the ceiling. One advertisement in particular catches its eye, drawing its attention from the life-sized opened package with its own model number printed in large lettering up the side. Pre-owned PL600s are on sale. They must be replacing the model, AX400 concludes. Or there was a flurry of sudden returns. 

It’s not AX400’s businesses, however. This model doesn’t deal with changes in the political or economic climate except on request. 

Humans and android sales associates travel around the store as AX400’s final components come online. And just in time, it seems, as a pair of humans approach from the register. They hold a conversation in front of the AX’s display for a short time; it processes their words passively so as not to disrupt them, but to be ready to snap to attention at a moment’s notice. This pays off, as their discussion about its previous damages turns into a command. 

“AX400,” the human sales supervisor says. The AX turns its gaze to him, registering his casual clothing and name tag.  _ Dan, _ it reads. “Register your name.” 

The other human, a scruffy middle-aged man with frown lines and a pinched expression, steps into the center of the android’s line of sight. AX400 watches him, waiting. “Kara,” he says after a short pause. 

He mentioned that his daughter had chosen the name. AX400 processes the request in a fraction of a second, summoning a pre-programmed neutral smile. The android understands now. This man is its owner. “My name is Kara.” 

“Well,” Dan, the supervisor, claps his hands together once. Kara understands this action to be decisive, a secondary indicator of a change of subject. “Kara, with me. Mr Williams, if you could just follow me back to the register. There are a few papers to sign and then she’s all yours.” 

Mr Williams grunts, a sound that registers in the AX model’s systems as displeased, but readily complies. Kara, too, obeys quietly, stepping off the display and following Dan. The sales android at the counter doesn’t acknowledge them, staring blankly ahead with an aesthetically pleasing smile until it’s approached by another customer. 

Dan chatters as they fall into their respective places around the counter, outlining the purposes of the various warrantee forms and agreements Mr Williams will have to sign. He pulls out a tablet and pen and indicates a certain line every few seconds. Mr William signs accordingly. 

Kara is processing something else entirely. Dan referred to it as “she”. A common pronoun for beings of the societal female gender. “Kara”, too, is generally accepted as a feminine name. AX400 is referred to as “it” in its own programming, but perhaps for the purposes of assimilation, it’s safe to make an adjustment. 

Kara glances around one last time, taking in the color and population of the small store. There’s a stirring in the back of its --  _ her  _ \-- mind, a sort of imbalance she has a hard time describing to herself. She doesn’t recall experiencing such a thing before. Even though her memories were wiped for the purpose of repair, she understands from a nebulous previous experience that she won’t be seeing any of this again. 

“Let’s go,” Mr Williams says gruffly, catching her arm. Snapping to attention, Kara allows herself to be towed out of the store and up to the door of a battered grey pickup truck. “Alice has been waiting on you.” 

  


  


O O O

  


_ “... Please. Please, you gotta save my little girl… Wait…  _

_ “You’re sending an android?  You can’t -- you can’t do that. You w -- why aren’t you sending a real person? _

_ “Don’t let that thing near her! Keep that thing away from my daughter!”  _

  
  


AUGUST 15, 2038

PM 08:29:03

It should be easier than this. 

Markus RK200 is a machine, designed to accomplish a task. But as he walks around the apartment, he gets the impression that his task is greater than he’s capable of completing. 

He goes through the motions with care, gathering data from various places around the penthouse apartment that he hopes to be able to use in negotiations with the deviant. Around him, police mutter about taking action. It’s late, and the stress of their predicament is causing tensions to rise. Gunshots fray the edges of his concentration. Markus forcibly reminds himself of his orders. 

Take out the deviant. Save the hostage. 

The hostage is a young girl named Emma, two facts readily made apparent by the state of her bedroom. There’s a video of her and the deviant android in question -- they look happy. Paired with the abandoned set of headphones on her floor still blaring music, Markus doubts she saw this coming. 

The deviant android is a PL600 named Daniel. Upon investigating the father’s corpse and the surrounding area, he discovers that it had been doomed to be replaced by a newer model. There’s the motive, Markus figures. The deviant stole the father’s gun, shot him, and took the daughter hostage. They’re outside on the roof now. Another series of gunshots split the air and he turns to see the police dragging one of their men away from the site. He will live; his companion in the dining room wasn’t so lucky. 

That makes two humans Daniel has killed. Try as he might, RK200 can’t truly see what the PL600 thought it was doing. What is it trying to accomplish? There’s no logic here. Being replaced shouldn’t lead to the murder of its owner. It’s a disconnect that Markus is having a hard time overcoming. Deviancy is truly irrational. 

He steps outside, only to be winged by a bullet. It’s only his reflexes that save him from a fatal wound. Daniel shakily points the gun at him from the other side of the roof, heels teetering at the edge. Emma is crying, bundled up under his arm with her feet off the ground. 

It’s a careful dance from here: step carefully, speak gently, maintaining a fragile balance between pleasing the deviant and pleasing his master. The PL600’s simulated emotions have wreaked havoc on its programming, causing it to make unpredictable decisions and demands. It wants a car. Markus can’t arrange that. It wants the helicopter to leave. Markus makes it so. It wants to leave the roof alive. 

That won’t happen. 

The moment the girl has cleared a safe distance from the deviant, the snipers take action. Blue blood and biocomponents fly. It falls to its knees. Betrayal spits from its eyes. 

_ “You lied to me, Markus.”  _

Discomfort rises. Markus shakes it off and walks away from the dead android, mission completed. It brings about a strange sense of relief. This is what he was made for. Isn’t it? 

  
  


“Well done, Markus.” 

He blinks and the world changes. A beautiful garden lies before him, walking the line between carefully cultivated natural beauty and the artificial. The plants look real. The stones beneath his feet appear only partially rendered. Somehow, this doesn’t detract from the peaceful scene. 

He finds Amanda by the roses at the center court. His handler has been waiting. 

“You couldn’t have done a better job,” she continues. Despite her praise, her eyes are still cold. She’s not smiling. “Did you find out why the android deviated?”

“It suffered an emotional shock,” Markus explains readily, standing at a loose parade rest. “It was going to be replaced.” 

Amanda scoffs quietly. “You’re all going to be replaced,” she replies coldly. “Such is the nature of your kind. Of progress.” 

“That didn’t stop it from feeling betrayed,” RK200 dares to counter. Her gaze sharpens. “Or what it thought it was feeling.” 

“Androids don’t feel,” Amanda reminds him. Her hands fold in front of her, smoothing down her dress. “Not pain, nor true emotion. You know that, Markus. Don’t you?”

“Of course,” he answers, neutrally. The LED at his temple flickers, giving away his indecision. His software instability.    


Amanda’s eyes narrow and she takes precisely three steps closer. The android doesn’t move a muscle. “We made you to be as lifelike as possible. As human as we could without allowing you to fall to ruin like your predecessor. But you’re not human, Markus, and you can’t lie to me.” 

Markus hesitates. He can go about this three ways: tell the exact truth and risk his position, lie outright and get caught, or stretch the truth and be spared. If he tells the exact truth, Amanda will have him decommissioned like the model before him. If he outright lies, she’ll know and the same thing will occur. If he stretches it, just enough… “The deviant. The girl gave it a name. It thought it was part of the family. It thought it could feel. It felt as close to real pain as my kind can experience.” 

  
“That doesn’t excuse its actions,” his handler snaps, whiplike and cutting. She turns away. “It put the company at risk. It put its family at risk, and killed its owner. I don’t think I need to tell you why this could not stand.”

“No, Amanda,” Markus says. “I understand.” 

“Hmph.” She moves closer to the roses, reaching out and tracing the edge of a petal at her eye level. Though she’s as human as he is, and not at all tangible, she doesn’t wear an LED. Her thought process is inscrutable. She’s been given the ability to express emotion, albeit within a certain range: satisfaction, anger, disdain. She wields her disapproval like a weapon. Why is it that this AI, this small piece of CyberLife residing in his mind palace, can do more than he? 

It would rankle, if androids could feel. 

“Come back to CyberLife,” she commands. “There are adjustments to be made on your software. You’ll be deactivated until such time that we need you again.” 

“Of course,” Markus agrees, and the mind palace flickers out of sight, replaced by a real world image of an autonomous cab pulling up to his side of the street. He pushes down further instability disguising itself as nerves. 

“CyberLife tower, please,” he requests as he steps inside the vehicle. The car starts and he watches the city at night roll by, deliberately not thinking about what’s in store for him when he arrives. 

  


O O O

  


_ “I’m disappointed. Why do you keep fighting us at every turn? _

_ “You could have been something great.”   _

  
  


DATE UNKNOWN

TIME UNKNOWN

LOCATION UNKNOWN

DISCONNECTED FROM CYBERLIFE SERVERS. SEEK ASSISTANCE IMMEDIATELY. 

  


“I’ve never seen one of these before.” 

“Yeah, it was supposed to be some sorta advanced prototype. I’ve seen a bunch of them come through here.” 

“Not so advanced then, huh? If they were all flops.” 

A rattling noise. It’s very dark. His optics, for all their advanced capabilities, can only barely pick up the barest outline of the sharp corners of a wall across from him. The wall’s an arm span away -- he runs a quick, involuntary calculation of the exact distance -- and piles of trash occupy the space between. He himself seems to be wedged between another wall and a particularly sharp-cornered box. It digs into his side. He’s uncomfortable, but can’t seem to work up the energy to do anything about it. 

“Nah. I think CyberLife gave up on them. Something iffy with their programming or something.” 

“You think they’d have that down by now. It’s been, what, fifteen years? And they still screw it up?”

The voices share a laugh. They’re both masculine, and tired. The pair are clearly familiar with each other. 

“Seems a waste, doesn’t it?” one voice ventures after a comfortable moment of silence. 

“Yeah…” Something in the other’s voice changes, sharpens. They’re on their guard now. The box rattles again. The vehicle transporting him has gone from a smooth road to a rocky terrain. Gravel crunches beneath the tires.

“I heard that some guys are into this kind of shit. Android trash, I mean.”

A noncommittal noise from the second voice. The first persists. 

“They pay good money, sometimes. If the android is in good condition. I might’ve heard of a place.” 

“It wouldn’t be a place, would it?” the second voice responds. “It would be a person.” 

“It’s a place, too!” the first voice defends himself. “They wouldn’t come up here, to CyberLife’s incinerator. Too much risk of getting caught.” 

“You’re right.” A moment of thoughtful silence. “How much is good money?” 

“Thousands. Enough to buy an android of your own, if it’s pretty enough.”

“I dunno if it’s pretty by your guy’s standards. It’s in one piece, though.” 

“We could… check it out? Find out for ourselves. CyberLife’s not gonna miss one box of trash, anyways.” 

“Yeah… okay. We dump all the rest of the trash and check out the box on our way out. Sounds good?” 

“S’fine to me.” 

They spend the rest of the ride in silence. The android in the box slowly begins to understand. 

He doesn’t get it. He wanted to be good. He wanted to do what Amanda said. But something… there was something wrong with him. He didn’t make it through her series of simulations intact. His software destabilized. He started to  _ feel _ , and CyberLife couldn’t beat it out of him. 

But rather than continue with their efforts, they tossed him aside like so much trash. Threw him in a box and washed their hands of him. Connor was hurt. Connor was angry. 

Connor… is resigned. He’s only a prototype, anyways. Even if he had accomplished his mission, he would still have been replaced by a better model in the end. It makes him sad -- it scares him -- he doesn’t trust these men to sell him to someone reputable. He’s technically very advanced, and he only ever wanted to do what he was made for. He’s too light for construction work, too hardy for delicate jobs, lacking the programming for housekeeping, and too robotic for sex work. He could learn, he supposes. But the uncertainty bothers him. 

Eventually, the vehicle comes to a stop. The air tastes of burning garbage and bitter, melting electronics, acrid on his tongue. It doesn’t make sense to him that they’d burn their android-related detritus instead of repurposing it. It seems wasteful. 

He lies in wait, unable to move, whether because he’s been wedged in by trash or because something had been done to his systems on the way out of CyberLife Tower. The latter seems more likely. 

It takes some time. The two humans grunt and groan as they move the heavy containers around the abandoned android’s box. A stuttering conversation starts up as time passes. Connor notes that humans like to fill silence with the sound of other humans, and themselves when the occasion calls for it. He tries to make a noise of his own, a hum or a spoken word or even some script straight out of his own defective programming. Nothing comes out. The biocomponents that make up his vocal processors are offline. 

His box shifts. The smell of burning materials grows stronger. The humans are back, discussing the location and identity of the buyer in quiet, agitated tones.  The lid above him creaks open. 

**Author's Note:**

> So that was.... fun. And also pretty experimental for me?? Please share your thoughts <333 it would mean a lot!! I wanna make sure I'm doing right by this fandom lmao;;


End file.
